


How Far We've Come

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: i was wondering if you could write a sort of au fic where root was a huge nerd in high school that always got made fun of and now just found out about her high school reunion and feels the need to go and asks Shaw to be her date. she shows up and shows UP her old classmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Far We've Come

"Hey, Sweetie, you awake?" Root says into her earpiece, walking through the New York throng.

"Am now," Shaw’s voice comes back groggily. She can hear shuffling and the metallic sounds of bed springs as Shaw sits up. "What d’you need?"

"Just wanted to have a little chat," Root replies, unable to keep the smile from her face. "Just us girls."

There is silence on the other side, and Root can almost feel Shaw’s unamused eyes searing into her own.

"Why are you  _really_  calling?” She asks Root.

"Checking in," Root replies, becoming slightly more serious. "Harold told me you were having a rough night."

From the other end, Shaw snorts. “Yeah, you can say that,” she spits, but her anger is not focused on Root. “People across the hall were having some kind of cage match in their living room.” Root bites her lip, but the grin she holds back ignites in her eyes. “Screaming, yelling-  _all_  night.”

"And what did Harold do?" She asks conversationally, not wanting Shaw to stop speaking.

"Hthrtndtocnfsatemgns," she mumbles.

"What?"

"He… threatened to confiscate my guns," Shaw repeats slowly. "All of them. Because I was ready to  _shoot_  them.”

Root can’t help but smile. Looking upward with a smirk, she replies, “You can sleep at my place  _anytime_.”

* * *

 

There is a moment’s tense silence. “ _Tempting_ ,” Shaw says at last, voice oozing with sarcasm. “But I think I’ll pass.”

"Suit yourself," Root sighs, putting her hands in her pockets, rounding the corner. As she walks forward, a large, shimmering sign catches her eye as it swings loosely on a street light. It’s tied up tight, and Root’s brows knit together as she sees the high school name printed in large, golden letters. _My high school._

Casually, she continues forward, eyes still on the poster. Her eyes land on an invitation attached to it, and she stops abruptly. From behind, she is bumped into roughly.

"Are you o-"

"Sameen," Root interrupts her, the caution in her voice matching that of her footsteps as she nears the glittery blue poster-board. "I’ll call you back.."

"Wait, Root," Shaw’s voice comes back, words no longer laced in sleep. "What’s going on?"

"Nothing, I just…" She trails off, fingers stretching out to the flapping paper attached to the sign.

"Root.  _Root_?” Root brings her hand to her ear, shutting off the ear piece, and she quickly snatches the invitation from the board. Her eyes devour every word- every detail.

_High School Reunion for the Class of 1997! Join us in a night of rekindled spirits and memories! Where? Brooklyn Technical High School. When? March 13, 2015; 7:00-12:00. To: Samantha Groves. From: The class of 1997!_

_Today?_  she gawks.  _Tonight?_

Peering to the bottom corner, she sees scratchy words written in ink:

_We haven’t seen you in a while, but we didn’t forget you either. We miss you! We’re hoping this gets to you, Sammy- there’s an invitation on all the posters!_

Root swallows hard, feeling her vision tunnel and her knees knock. Her breathing is fast and painful, heart a hammer hacking away at her ribs. Numbly, she stuffs the invitation into her pocket, then rushes to the subway station. _I need to see Harold._

____________\ If Your Number’s Up /______________

Coming into their softly lit hideout, Root can barely hear anything over the blood still roaring in her ears. Looking around savagely, she hears the wheels of a chair roll on tile, and half-jogs to Harold’s desk. Harold looks at her, glasses revealing deep, blue eyes drawn up in question. Bringing a hand to his front, he smooths down his tie.

"Miss. Groves, what’s wrong?"

She stares at him a moment, wondering if she can even speak at all. Hand slightly trembling, she protrudes the now crumpled card.

"How did they know." Her voice is harsh and demanding, surprising herself and Harold. "How do they know I’m  _here_.”

"Who?" He asks, standing. There is a fixed concern in his eyes.

"My high school," she replies, handing over the page. He untangles it delicately, then scans over the words. His fingers trail over the insignia on the corner- a comically drawn bull.

"Where did you find this?" He ask, placing it down on his desk, eyes never leaving hers.

"There are posters," she says, voice quiet now.

"Did you even  _go_  to high school?” Harold asks, already having an idea of the answer.

"No- not really. Just studied on my own. I left freshman year…" Her words stop there, and she bites her lip at the painful memories that flood her mind. Memories of her mother, memories of Hanna. Memories of AP textbooks read and recited, college courses taken online using a faulty identity, all to block out the pain of them. Memories of how none of it helped.

"Do you think this is a trap?" Harold’s voice brings her from childhood thoughts, and she shrugs her shoulders.

"I’m not sure." She sets her jaw, taking in a steady breath. "I… I would like to find out."

"Have John or Lionel accompany you," Harold advises, walking away from her to come to the subway car. "The police presence may hel-"

"Can I ask Shaw?" She bursts out. Harold’s head darts up to meet hers quickly, and she begins to back pedal. "Or I could ask them. But I really don’t- I mean, if it  _does_  turn out to be real,” Root rambles, looking at the invitation, “I’d kind of like to..”

"Say no more," Harold says with a small smile. "Ask whomever you’d like; just be safe."

Root sends a grateful smile his way, then turns, hearing half a dozen foot falls from behind.

"I’m sure she’s  _fine_ ,” John’s voice carries from the darkness.

"You didn’t  _hear_  how she sounded,” Shaw’s voice counters, heels clicking down faster.

"Since when has Banana Nut Crunch not been able to fend for herself?" Detective Fusco’s voice asks, a light laugh in it at his pet name.

"There’s a first for everything," Shaw remarks almost gravely. Within seconds they are bathed in the station’s light.

Seeing Shaw emerge, hair pulled back, black attire contrasting vividly against reflective tile, a smirk comes to her face. When Shaw sees Root, she stops walking, the slightest amount of relief flickering in her eyes.

"Were you worried about me?" Root asks coyly, waltzing forward. Shaw gives her an indifferent look.

"No. Why would I be worried?"

"You call  _that_  not worried?” Fusco exclaims, referring to her earlier words. Rolling her eyes at him, she looks to Root, inspecting her up and down for any sign of injury.

"I’m fine," Root replies just loud enough for Shaw to hear, who nods in response. "So sweet of you to care," she adds in a doting tone, to which Shaw shoulder checks her, walking past. Root watches her as she goes, wanting to ask but unsure how.

"What do you want us to do now?" John asks Shaw, sluggishly milling about. "You called us out on our lunch break for this. You at least gonna offer us a meal?" Shaw narrows her eyes his way, warning him to watch it, and the side of his mouth quirks up in a smile.

"Might as well," she says at last, walking towards Harold’s desk. "It’ll be breakfast for me."

"Neighbors that bad?" John chuckles, to which Harold responds.

"I could hear them through the phone." John nods his way, then looks back to Shaw.

"Why didn’t you just shoot them?"

"Harold wouldn’t  _let_  me!” She throws an accusatory hand Harold’s way, and he gives them both an equally annoyed glare before grabbing a file from the subway car. Shaw comes to the desk, just as Root’s eyes land on the invitation.  _Oh no no no_ , her thoughts bellow, and she walks forward a little too swiftly.

Shaw watches her quizzically, follows the trail of her eyes to the paper, then snatches it from the desk just as Root sticks out her hand to claim in. Her hand slams down on nothing but wood, and she instantly tries to grab the paper from Shaw’s grasp. Shaw turns her back to Root, holding it out of Root’s reach, trying to keep her from claiming it.

"Sa…  _meen_ …” Root’s voice is a threat as she gropes for the page, but Shaw ducks out from around Root’s arms, then begins to read it, staying out of reach. Root’s eyes are smoldering as she watches Shaw read. Her fists clench, and she tries to tame the fire burning on her cheeks. She watches as Shaw’s face starts neutral, then progressively turns up in a smile, until it is a large, toothy grin.

” _Sammy?_ " Shaw asks in humorous disbelief, wagging the paper in front of her for Root to see. "They called you  _Sammy_?” Root snatches the invitation back angrily, crumpling it back up and shoving it deep into her pocket. She feels her ears redden at Shaw’s smug smirk.

"It was a long time ago," Root retorts shortly.

"Apparently not to them," Shaw points out, the satisfaction thick in her words. "Who wrote you that little note, huh? Ex-boyfriend?"

"No."

"Ex- _girlfriend_?” Shaw comes back with a little more edge to her voice. Root bursts.

"I don’t know  _who_  wrote it,” she seethes, and Shaw laughs.

"Never knew you to get this angry," she comments, and Root gives up. With a despicable sigh, she turns around, heading back to meet Harold at the subway car’s door.

"I’m going to see if John’s available," she tells him quiet but heatedly, and Harold’s eyes give her a skeptical look.

"Miss. Groves, I am sure she’s only-"

"No, I don’t  _care_ , you’re right anyway. Police presence will-“

"What about John?" Shaw asks, meandering forward. Her face is expressionless, but her eyes show a pique of interest.

"She needs someone to accompany her to this gathering," Harold answers before Root can divulge a word. Shaw’s eyes turn back to unreadable stone.

"Oh." She nods, mostly for herself, her shoulders easing back in a careless way as her eyes trail away.

"You  _were_  her first candidate,” he adds offhandedly, and Shaw’s eyes dart straight back, something in them once more. Root elbows Harold stiffly in the side, and he stifles a groan.

"Why not any more?" She asks, facing Harold, but her eyes are on Root. Harold turns to face Root fully, exaggerated questioning in his voice.

” _Yes_ , Miss. Groves,  _why_  the sudden change of heart?” Root shoots him a venomous side glance. Peering back to Shaw, she tries to think of a reason, but every one she seemed to have stacked up before melts in the heat of Shaw’s gaze. Rolling her tongue around her mouth, she finally answers.

"He cleans up nice." It is a weak reason at best, and she knows it.

” _I_  can clean up nice,” Shaw replies coolly. “I’m in,” she says, looking from Root to Harold and back. Root’s heart gives a sudden lurch.  _She’s in?_  She feels the surprise choke her, and she hurriedly swallows it back down.

"Oh, um, yeah," Root fumbles, her hands coming around the invitation as she pulls it open. "It, uh, it starts at-"

"Seven," Shaw interrupts, a smirk playing on her face. "I read the paper." Root nods, placing it back as Shaw begins to walk away. John and Lionel follow, ready to eat. Just as her form makes it to the edge of the shadows, she stops, head turning to the side. "And, Root?" She calls back.

Root nods, “Yeah?”

"Can’t wait to meet all your  _little_  friends.” With that and the visible traces of a smile, she is consumed by the darkness.

____________\ We’ll Find You /___________

 _Just stay calm_ , Root tells herself for the umpteenth time.  _Everything is going to work out._ But it wasn’t Everything that was eating her. It was one thing. It was Shaw.  _How will she be? Will she have fun? Be bored? Will she walk out? Does she actually want to go?_  The questions make Root’s stomach churn, and she grips the bathroom sink, taking in slow breaths. Once calm, she slips on a red dress, thick tank top straps met by sliced bands of material that trail three quarters of the way down her arms. The top is partially ruffled, with a silky band that spans across her ribs. The dress is smooth and form fitting in the middle, with a bit of leave in the bottom half. It fans out slightly as she gives a quick turn, back to the mirror as she tries to work out the zipper. She inspects herself momentarily, watching as the dress floats back into place just above the knee. Unable to reach, she decides to come back to it, giving her hair a thorough brushing before sliding into a pair of matching red heels. The heel isn’t very large, more like an inch on a sandal, and they have glass diamonds embroidered down the center. Turning back around, she puts on a necklace with a crystal wrought sphere at it’s center, sliding it around until it sits evenly on the chain. There is a knock on the door, and her heart begins to flutter like a wild bird in a cage. Bringing her hand to her hair, she gives it a last ruffle before stealing off to the door.

Looking through the peephole, she can swear her heart breaks free. Her hair, too, is down, but it is straight and silky, shining in the light of the hallway. She has on a dark eyeliner that brings her eyes to light brighter than ever before, and her lips glisten with a natural colored lipstick. Her dress is black, strap only a continuous loops around her neck, met by a teardrop shaped crystal in the center. The black material follows with her body, loosening at the hips and coming down to the halfway point of her thighs. From there, black laced stockings wrap around her legs until they come to black, wedged high heels that look like a fancy version of laced up sneakers. She brings a hand up to her hair, brushing it back behind her ear as she rocks on seemingly nervous feet, eyes traveling down the hall.

"You gonna let me in or what?" Shaw asks, and instantly Root backs away from the peephole, opening the door to her. She walks in, not looking at Root, all the while Root can’t help but follow Shaw in with her eyes. She seems to float, not walk, and everything about her seems elegant. She turns back, eyes seeing Root for the first time tonight. In her eyes, Root sees something she can’t place, and looks to her shoes, feeling her cheeks heating up.

"Ready to go?" Root asks, eyes slipping to the wall clock just behind Shaw.  _6:45_. Shaw nods, and Root turns, grabbing the handle of the door.

"Wait," she hears Shaw’s voice, and becomes still. Her heart jumps and her stomach flips as she feels Shaw’s breath on the back of her neck. Every nerve ending in her body feels like it’s been hit with six hundred volts- she can practically feel herself vibrating- and tries desperately to stay calm.  _Butterflies._ They leave her stomach, fluttering all the way to her throat as Shaw’s hand comes to her lower back, palm pressed flat against her. Root goes to say something, but her words are blocked by all of the butterflies. She realizes she’s been holding her breath.

There is the sound of zipping.  _What?_  Root wonders, trying to think of where it comes from. Her thoughts are slowed to a crawl, Shaw like the purest form of heroine to her.  _My dress,_  she thinks at last, the pieces falling together. _I never zipped the dress._

"Okay, good to go," Shaw says, not a note of anything in her voice. Root doesn’t dare look back, afraid of what her face might reveal to Shaw, and steps through the door. Behind her, Shaw lets out a small sigh of her own, relieved Root didn’t turn around, fearing the same thing Root does.

They walk. It takes approximately ten minutes, but they make it at last, the sun setting just as they come to the school’s block. Root sees cars parked everywhere and people walking towards the building, every one of them laughing and smiling. She stops, legs freezing up and eyes slightly wide. Shaw notices the lack of presence beside her and turns with questioning eyes.

"I haven’t seen these people in  _years_ ,” she tells Shaw in a slightly whispered awe.

"I haven’t seen them at  _all_. Looks like we both have a lot of catching up to do.” Root smiles at her attempt at comfort.

"Just to let you know," Root warns, walking slowly up to Shaw’s side. "I was a nerd. That’s all they’re going to remember me as. As a kid who did nothing but study until she just stopped showing up one day." Shaw tilts her head to the side, giving Root a nearly sympathetic look. Then, she smiles.

"Then it’s time to show off," Shaw says, to which Root stares at her unknowingly. "You know," Shaw prompts, "like in all those TV shows? Where the people go to their reunions and brag about how great everything is?"

"I can’t really tell them everything we do," Root points out, and Shaw narrows her eyes.

"No one ever tells the  _truth_  at these things,” she says, turning her gaze to the sea of people. “See that guy?” Shaw asks, pointing to a a salt-and-pepper haired, charming man in a tuxedo. Root nods. “He’s going to tell everyone he’s a CEO. Single and loving it. But he just got out of a run-down minivan with those weird soccer mom stickers. Suit looks brand new, sure, but that weird hitch in his step? Tags. He’ll be returning it tomorrow. So: married, kids, and your average Joe. But he’ll lie  _all night long._ ”

Root smiles, a warmth spreading across her as her frozen muscles melt. Shaw gives her a quick flash of teeth before her face settles back to neutrality. Once they make it to the door, a heavy-set man stops them.

"Name?" He asks, dark, bald head reflecting the school’s front lights. Root feels a chill in her bones, and she’s not sure if it is entirely caused by the set sun.

"Samantha Groves." The first name sticks dryly on her tongue, and the man scribbles something onto the page.

"And who’s this?" He asks, pudgy finger pointed at Shaw.

"My plus one," Root informs him, and he nods.

"Go ahead."

Smiling, the two pass by him, and their heels click against the vinyl flooring. The further in they walk, the more comes back to Root. Walking through the halls, never really looking at anyone. Never speaking to anyone. They pass by a girls bathroom, and she thinks of the countless hours she’d spent in there, studying. And the countless more she spent getting shoved around, too frail to do anything about it. They come past a janitor, old and missing a few teeth. Taking a good look at Root, he smiles a gummy grin.

"If it isn’t Samantha Groves," he says with a kind voice, leaning on a mop.

"Mr. Sanders?" Root greets with a large smile, remembering him. Spending time with him at lunch, teaching him codes and mathematics after school- the only person she ever seemed to talk to. "How’d you know it was me?"

"I’d never forget them pretty eyes o’ yours. Or that smile. Never came around much, but Lord knows when it did it made my day." Root looks to him fondly, and Shaw sends a small smile his way, eyes trailing up to Root, to the smile she sees almost every day.

"It’s really good to see you again," Root tells him, and he tips his baseball cap, rolling his mop and cart down the hall. Root, feeling eyes on her, looks over to Shaw.

"What are you looking at?" She asks with a sweet smile, on the inside dying to know if something is wrong.

 _Your smile_ , Shaw thinks, but swallows the answer. “Nothing. Which way do we go?” Root nods ahead, eyes forward, and they come to a T in the halls. Root looks at the wall, completely covered in blue lockers, and wonders if she’d even remember hers if she saw it.  _Probably not,_  she concludes, looking to the right. The hall travels far down, corridor brightly lit to reveal an endless supply of blue, with doors sprinkled throughout. Sweeping her eyes to the left, she sees white and blue patterned tile give way to polished wood, and can hear laughter and a sea of voices.

She walks that way, feeling assurance as Shaw’s heels click at her side, and walks through a thin curtain of curled blue streamers, coming into a whole different world. Silver balloons float next to the entrance, and the lights are more dim than the rest of the building. There is no disco ball, but lights on the side draw patterns across the floor. Tables line the perimeter, some holding keys and purses, others packed with food and drinks. Streamers hang from the ceiling, and the walls shimmer with silvery tinsel like a waterfall. Straight back, there is a DJ stand set up, playing music she hadn’t heard since high school. A soft smile comes to her face, hearing the song.  _Teen Spirit, how fitting_. The gathering has barely started, but already most of the class is there, and women have already discarded their heels, bouncing about in stocking-padded feet.

A man in a crisp suit walks forward, glass of punch in his hand, and a welcoming smile on his boyish face. His eyes are unsure, and he runs a hand through his fiery hair.

"I thought I new  _every_  face around here,” he starts off, looking at both Root and Shaw. His eyes stop on Root in the end, elevator eyes prying. Shaw can feel her jaw clench as she watches him with steel eyes. “But I seem to have forgotten the best. Chad Dylan,” he introduces himself, sticking out a hand. Root takes it, shakes it, then retracts her hand back mechanically.

"R- Samantha Groves."

"Samantha  _Groves_!” He exclaims, eyes lighting up. Something in his face is all too familiar to Root, but she can’t quite place it. “ _God_ , the last time I saw you, you were- were- were, well, not- not um,” he fumbles, hand coming to the back of his neck. Shaw tilts her head, daring him to continue.

"Not  _what_ ,” Root asks with caution.

"Not this  _easy_  on the eyes,” he says with a sheepish smile, and Root’s smile leaves. “Life did you well though,” he adds, gesturing to her figure.

"How well life has done me has  _nothing_  to do with my looks,” she replies snidely, and his eyes widen.

"That’s an attitude you’ve got on you. Don’t remember that from the little egg head ya used to be." He laughs, good humor in his hearty rumble, but Root finally places him.  _One of the basketball kids,_  she recalls, taking in his staggering height and slim form. She remembers those kids- that team- well.  _Basket balls to the head every other day_ , she sings to herself. Her hands begin to curl to fists as she tries calming herself.  _It’s not working._

"So, Chad," Root is surprised to hear Shaw’s voice, even more so to hear the conversational tone pack so much ice. "You bring a date with you?"

He gives her a coy smile, eyes trailing down her legs and back. She decides to ignore it- for now. He shakes his head. “Why? You offering?”

"No," she replies, smirking with cruelty. "But I was hoping you’d have somewhere else to be." His eyes slide open in surprise, lips cast back in a spiteful sneer.

"Why? You got a  _problem_  with me?” He spits, puffing out his chest. Shaw steps forward, looking up at his nearly six foot frame with nothing short of contempt.

"Now that you mention it, I-"

"Hey, Sam?" Root cuts in, bringing her hands to Shaw’s upper arm. "They just opened the food table. Let’s go." Shaw doesn’t move, her eyes burning. Begging him to swing so she has a reason to strike. But Root can see the gears quickly turning, knowing she doesn’t need more of a reason than what she already has. Not wanting to draw blood before taking ten steps into the gym, Root’s hand slides down to Shaw’s and she pulls her away swiftly. Shaw’s eyes stay on Chad for a long time, not moving a muscle until Root hauls her off, even then she moves grudgingly.

"Are all of them like  _that_?” She asks, scowl on her face as she scans the other people.

"If I remember correctly?" She asks, and Shaw finally looks over at her. Seeing Root, the scowl melts, and she lets out a short laugh.

"I can see why you left this place," she says, and Root’s eyes cast over slightly.  _It wasn’t really them,_  she thinks to herself solemnly. Shaw gives her a questioning look. “You okay?”

"Yeah, fine," Root replies, coming out of her daze. Seeing the concern in Shaw’s eyes, her heart gives a tug. "Hungry. Let’s go."

____________\ How Far We’ve Come /____________

"Any signs of danger, Miss. Groves?" Harold’s voice projects into her ear, and she becomes alert, not realizing her mike was live.

"Other than the food?" She replies, looking down at the less than wonderful horderves on her plate. "No danger; these really  _are_  people I went to school with.” She can hear the amazement in her voice, as she yet again looks at the sea of people moving like a dysfunctional current to the music, a few stragglers like themselves hanging back to the tables.

"Then, I will let you be," he says, a smile hinted in his words. "Have a nice night, Miss. Groves." The line goes dead and she sighs, looking over at Shaw. She’s shoveling in chips, watching the crowd before them. Stealing a quick glance at the clock, she realizes with dread barely a half hour has passed. From the crowd, a woman with wavy golden hair and crystal blue eyes walks towards them, a charming man accompanying her. She walks forward, her body snug in a tight dress green dress that gives little room for both movement and the imagination.

"I was told that our mystery girl showed up," the woman says with a warm voice, pearly white smile on her face. "You probably remember me- class president." She winks, signaling she’s putting herself equal to Root’s level.

"Oh, yes," Root replies, groping through her mind for a name. "Diane.."

” _Diana_ ,” she corrects, a snarky air surrounding her. Gesturing to the man at her side, she gives a radiant smile. “And you know Johnathan,” she says. Then, turning to Shaw, she adds, “Star football player in his day-  _all_  the girls wanted him.”

"Oh, I  _bet,_ " Shaw responds with strained enthusiasm.

"You bet correct," Diana remarks, not seeming to hear Shaw’s tone. "Married right after college. You don’t  _know_  this,” her voice is that of an owner talking to a new puppy at Root, “but I went to law school. Working for the D.O.D.”

"And I went to Medical School," Johnathan chimes in with a dashing smile, black hair slicked back. "Certified doctor now."

"But enough about  _us_ ,” Diana says, placing her hands on Johnathan’s shoulder, every word screaming that what she said is a lie. “What have  _you_  been up to since you  _dropped_   _out_.” She says it in a way that makes Shaw’s palms twitch, wanting to strike her.  _It’s as if she believes she’s the Queen and the rest of us are pawns,_  Shaw thinks heatedly.

"Oh, me? I…" Root looks at Shaw, unsure of what to say. Shaw looks back to the two haughty individuals before her, loathing their smirks- the way their eyes say that they are better than everyone in the room, especially them. Shaw crinkles her nose, giving a cute smile.

"You’ll have to excuse her," Shaw says conversationally. "R.. Sammy can be shy." Root elbows her hard, and Shaw turns to look at her. A smug smirk flickers to her face, seeing the burning in Root’s eyes.  _Sammy? Really?_  They ask.

"Oh, nothing we aren’t used to with her," they reply a little too snidely, and Shaw struggles to keep a kind smile on her face as she looks at them. She hates how they act as if they know all about Root- _I’d be damned if they knew a thing._

"She works with computers- programs with the best of them."

Diana’s smirk falters, but she quickly regains herself. “Oh, that’s… excellent. Very intelligent.”

"What about you?" Johnathan asks Shaw, and she purses her lips.  _Yes, what about me._

"I went to Medical School. Graduated. But it wasn’t really my  _thing_ \- too boring,” she says, and his eyes become harsh. “No offense to you,” she adds, giddy that he takes it  _all_  offensively. “I just work helping people in trouble. Nothing glamorous.”

"And  _you_  are?” Diana asks with some hostility in her voice. Shaw narrows her eyes.

"This is Sameen," Root says kindly, knowing Shaw is done with these two snobs from the past. "My uh.." Root trails off, unsure what to say. "My-"

"Girlfriend." Root’s eyes widen to hear the word come from Shaw’s mouth.  _Did I hear that right?_  She wonders. Seeing the cockiness leave the two entirely, she assumes so.

"Wow," Johnathan says, really meaning it. "Congrats. On everything- the job- everything. You’re really making out." She gives him a small smile in thanks, whilst Diane tugs on his arm roughly, chastising him.

” _Don’t_  tell her  _that_ ,” she spits under her breath, eyes red hot. With a sneer, she stalks off, but Johnathan stays behind a moment.

"You look really good," he tells her sincerely, then walks back to find his wife. Once out of sight, Root lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. She looks at her flimsy paper plate filled with tasteless things, and tosses it into the nearest trashcan.

"Coming here feels like a mistake," she says, confessing to Shaw. "Seems like I’m-" they both watch as a dark haired woman walks by, eyes set to kill Root’s way. "I’m  _unwanted_  here.”

Shaw turns to face her, face showing some disbelief. “ _That’s_  the vibe you’ve been  _getting_  out of this place?” She asks, stunned.

"Did you not just see that woman?" Root asks. Shaw lets her shoulders drop, head tilting to the side.

"The  _women_? Yeah, they’re ready to gang up on you and beat you in the parking lot,” Shaw responds, and Root gives her an unamused glare. “But that’s because every  _guy_  here is ignoring them to sit around and  _stare_  at  _you_.” Root gives her a confused look. “Oh come  _on_ , Root,” Shaw says in an it’s-so-obvious way. “You’re telling me,  _you_ \- someone who knows when an  _ant_  is looking her way- can’t feel  _eighty_  pair of eyes on you?” Root presses her lips together, not wanting to admit that she indeed hadn’t noticed. Between looking at her feet and looking at Shaw, she hadn’t noticed much else. Shaw shakes her head with a smile.

There is a scratch in the music, and it dies. The DJ comes onto the microphone, filling the entire room with his voice. “Now now, party people!” He shouts into the mike unnecessarily. “We have some people who don’t seem to want to have a good time. I’m talking about  _you_!” His finger points to the tables, scanning around to the men leaning against the walls, then Root and Shaw. His finger stops, and even from half way across the gym, Shaw can see a smile appear on his face. “I think we need to get them out here! You- yes  _you_ -” he says, turning his finger palm up, signaling with it for Root to come forward. “I know you wanna come out her. C’mon sugar, come on out!” From the crowd on the floor, there are calls beckoning encouragingly.

"Come on, Samantha!"

"You  _have_  to!”

"You ditched us for years- you owe us  _this_  much!” The roar grows, becoming more and more insistent. Root feels her stomach come to knots, but she smiles at the eagerness of so many people that don’t even know her, wanting her to partake. She takes a step forward; they cheer.  _Drunk, maybe_ , she thinks, smile deepening as she sees one man already staggering in the back. She turns back to Shaw, who merely looks at her.

"Go, knock your socks off," Shaw tells her, nodding her head forward. Root’s mouth opens slightly, still pulled up in a smile, as she shakes her head.

"Oh  _no_ ,” Root tells her matter-of-factly. “No.  _You_  are coming with  _me_.” Shaw lets out a humored laugh, her turn to shake her head.

She smirks. “No way in  _Hell_.” Root lets her head fall to the side, then tilt down to look at Shaw. She walks back to her slowly, and she feels a well of satisfaction. For every step she takes, Shaw’s face grows more and more serious. Finally, nearly on top of her, Root brings her arms around Shaw’s waist.

"You don’t have to  _like_  it, Sweetie,” Root tells her in a modest way, although her eyes are filled with the satisfaction she feels within. “But- at least for tonight- you and I are a couple.”

"I am no-"

"It was  _your_  cover, not mine,” Root points out, and Shaw groans.

” _Fine_ ,” she spits at last, not happy about what she fears comes next.  _Not dancing_ , she pleads, _I don’t dance_. Smile widening, Root’s arms slip away from Shaw’s waist, grabbing her hands instead as she pulls her toward the throng. They are immediately engulfed by people- people dancing and talking and drinking and laughing. The music plays, and they both stand rather dumbfounded. “Great idea,” Shaw grumbles, not looking at Root. In the dull lighting, Root swears she can see a blush on Shaw’s cheeks.

”..her girlfriend, mmhmm.” Root hears a voice, and soon many, all surrounding her. They sound like a collective colony of buzzing bees, but when she fixes in any one spot, the buzzing turns to words. A lot of  _'Samantha Groves'_ ,  _'She looks amazing'_ , and  _'And you're sure she's taken?'_ s later, Root turns her attention back to Shaw, a thrill running down her spine, seeing Shaw’s eyes already on her.

"Why didn’t you smile much?" Sameen asks at last, the question burning at her all night. Root fidgets slightly before answering.

"That point in time wasn’t really the best for me," Shaw nods, understanding.

"It’s in the past," Shaw tells her, and Root gives her an award winning smile. Shaw gives a small one back, realizing for the first time how awful things might just be if she didn’t see that smile anymore.

"Okay, okay, my party people!" The DJ announces, turning down a Nickleback song. "I’m gonna slow this down a bit, you dig?" There are some hoots and hollers, and his laugh rumbles through the speakers. "Alright, find someone you can stand for a song," there is timid, drunk laughter from the crowd. "And hold ‘em tight." Everyone around them scrabbles for a partner; they don’t move.

There is a click, a small burst of static, and a guitar kicks up softly.

 _"And I’d give up forever to touch you,"_  a man’s voice sings gently, and Root smiles to herself, already knowing the song.  _"Cause I know that you feel me somehow."_  Shaw looks at the DJ, looks at the people now split into pairs- looks everywhere but Root. Looks at the streamers, looks at the lights, admires the wood work on the floors.  _"You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,"_  Shaw looks up at the words, seeing Root watching her. Her heart skips in her chest, but she remains indifferent on the outside.  _At least, I hope_. Root gives her the slightest half smile. barely becoming macroscopic before falling away.  _She’s nervous,_  Shaw thinks to herself, looking at Root. Her hair, her dress, her lips, her eyes. She feels frozen in place, torn between two rivaling sides ripping her at the seams. _It would be too awkward,_ half says with a tug.  _You can’t just stand there_ , the other tugs back.  _Besides, she might possibly want to dance_.  _Not with you_ , the other side tugs again. Frozen.  _"And I don’t want to go home right now."_  Breathing in through her nose, she lets her breath hold until it burns, then slowly exhales.

_"And all I can taste is this moment."_

Takes a step forward. Stops.

 _"And all I can breathe is your life."_  

Takes a step. Stops.

 _"Cause sooner or later it’s over."_  Takes a last step. She finds herself hazardously close to Root now, who hasn’t moved yet, but her eyes followed, never leaving Shaw’s. They are a mixture of things, constantly changing, each a second too short for Shaw to decrypt. Finally, she gives up trying.

"You drag me all the way out here to stare at me?" Shaw asks jokingly, but her voice comes out more hushed than anticipated. Root gives a small chuckle.

"Maybe," she replies, but drapes her arms over Shaw’s shoulders, and- after a stiff moment- Shaw places her arms around Root’s waist, unsure of it all. Unsure of herself and of Root, unsure of everyone in the room, even unsure of the music.  _"I just don’t want to miss you tonight."_

Root places her forehead against Shaw’s, a devilish smile on her face. “Never took your for the dancing type,” she says coyly.

"I’m not," Shaw replies. "Doing this for the cover."

” _Mmhmm_ ,” Root responds with a euphoria in her voice as the chorus picks up. She slides her head over, putting her mouth close to Shaw’s ear. “You just keep on telling yourself that.”

 _I will,_  Shaw assures her in her own mind.  _I most certainly will._


End file.
